


accedat, sine

by singlemalter



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Virgin Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:16:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22089412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlemalter/pseuds/singlemalter
Summary: The god of delight requires a sacrifice.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Daniel Ricciardo
Comments: 7
Kudos: 55





	accedat, sine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mondaycore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mondaycore/gifts).

In the throes of summer, tradition calls.

He’s been preparing for this his whole life, but the chaplet of laurel is still just as heavy. 

Charles enters the Temple of Speed with his head down. Stained glass surrounds him from every side, telling stories of a man powerful enough to join the ranks of gods, yet as playful as a young child in an empty field.

Being offered to the most elusive of deities is an honour, he reminds himself. His people’s warnings weigh heavily on his heart—Daniel is full of diablerie, a god with the demeanour of roguish humans, and taking his words at face value can only lead to hurt. He is joyful and deceiving all at once, and it’s nearly impossible to avoid his tricks. 

“God of delight,” Charles calls out, eyes shut, arms limp by his sides. He’s rehearsed this speech countless times. “My people in Maranello ask for the blessings of joy and fertility. Only you can give us what we need. In return, I offer myself to you, to do as you wish.”

After years of hearing fearful tales from every maid in the village, he’s well aware of what his sacrifice entails, but nothing could have prepared him for this sudden, violent shift in the atmosphere. Daniel’s presence is enrapturing, even if Charles can’t see him yet. It seizes his breath as if a snake is coiled around his ribs, squeezing the air out of him.

“So you’re my toy boy for this year?”

He bites his tongue. Cardinal rule: never speak unless ordered to.

“Come on, don’t be shy,” Daniel says.

Is that permission? Charles hopes it is. “I guess I am.”

Daniel laughs, boisterous and lively. “I like you. Usually they’re all, _I’m your humble offering, my Lord_. Like they’ve got a stick up their arse.”

“Maybe they were not happy to be here.”

“Are you?” The question hangs heavy in the air. 

Charles smiles. “Yes, I am happy.”

Daniel waves his hand with a flourish. Suddenly, Charles can no longer see, though his eyes are open. “Good. I’m very nice to people who are nice to me. Is that weird?”

“No,” Charles says, and two hands spread his thighs. He inhales sharply and wills himself to relax. “What are you doing?”

“Just wanna get a good look at you,” Daniel murmurs, pushing layers of silk off Charles’ shoulders, but he’s still holding Charles’ legs, somehow, and _oh_, this is what they meant by out of this world. “I take good care of my gifts. Do you like getting gifts, kid?”

“I do, I do,” Charles pleads. “Come on, want to see you.”

“You’re brave,” says Daniel. He cups Charles’ cheek, returning his eyesight with ease, like he’d just forgotten to give it back. His nonchalance is equal parts infuriating and attractive. “It’s been a while since anyone talked to me like that.” 

Charles blinks until he’s accustomed to the light. “How many?”

Daniel hums, faux-thoughtful. “A hundred summers or so.”

“That’s quite a long time,” Charles says. He leans into Daniel’s touch, warm and holy, turning slightly to kiss his palm. “We can compensate for it now.”

“Tell me what you want.”

It’s a straightforward question, but it takes a lot out of Charles to answer, his cheeks pink with shame. “I want… I want you to fuck me, please.”

“Get up there,” Daniel commands. He urges Charles up the steps, pushing him over the marble lectern, arse up. “Attaboy, altar boy.”

Slowly, as though he’s opening a delicate present, he unties the knot holding Charles’ robes together. 

Bright colour shines upon their bodies. Charles wishes he could see himself, smooth fabric cascading to his feet, his face illuminated by red-blue-yellow light. He must look beautiful, radiant, _divine_. He wants to belong to a god and be recognised as worthy of praise.

Behind him, Daniel runs his thumb over Charles’ hole, spreads his cheeks with unabashed appreciation. “You’re a pretty one,” he says. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Whatever you want,” Charles says.

That must be the right answer, because Daniel conjures a flask of oil and spills its contents down Charles’ back, the sticky liquid running down his skin until it reaches his hole. He shivers, biting his lip to conceal a high-pitched noise.

“There you go, kid,” Daniel whispers. “Never tell anyone I’m an unkind god.”

Daniel leans over, breath tickling Charles’ ear as he pushes into him. He points to the empty lead frame across the temple, paralleling the altar they stand on, and it’s like the place of honour has been waiting for Charles to come in and offer himself to his god. “I want to keep you there. Turn you into art glass, have you look over everyone who comes in to worship.”

“Please,” Charles whines, overwhelmed by the burning stretch of Daniel’s cock, filling him up, ravaging him. “I want—”

“I know what you want,” says Daniel. His thousand hands reach everywhere; they cradle Charles’ face and tease his cock at the same time, squeezing his chest all the while. 

It’s too much. Charles’ head swims, sinking deeper into submission with every thrust. His thighs tremble and give out, held up only by Daniel’s body and the platform he’s bent over.

“Please, please, please make me _yours_.” 

And Daniel is far from possessive, but there is still _something_ enthralling about a boy who’s gone twenty-two summers without touching or being touched, all for the sake of a hungry god’s selfish rapture.

As Charles’ climax draws closer, Daniel reaches inside his body, unwinds the serpentine ribbon of pleasure in his gut, and _tugs_.

* * *

“Where am I?” 

This is my workshop.

“I want to go home.” 

You _are_ home.

“What—I don’t know what's going on.” 

Did you forget this was a sacrifice, kid?

“I—I am sorry.” 

Don’t be. You asked for... joy and fertility, right?

“Yes.” 

Consider Maranello blessed, darling.

“Thank you.” 

As for you, you stay here with me.

* * *

Autumn brings worshippers to the Temple of Speed, their hearts full of love and gratitude for the blessed summer. 

Above them is the figure of an unclothed young man, his coy smile cut into thick glass. They pray under his unseeing gaze, and his cries are songs for the deaf.

**Author's Note:**

> WHAT DOES ANY OF THIS EVEN MEAN??? I don't know but HAPPY EASTER Mx. Monday Core, I am so glad you're here with us and so sorry this is what I have to show for it. If this is bad, blame Nat and Jen for encouraging this.
> 
> Title is Latin for "let him approach," stolen shamelessly from the Priapeia, also known as a book of poetry about the god of huge dicks.
> 
> You ask, Malter, is that _Songs for the Deaf_, like the Queens of the Stone Age album? You bet it is!
> 
> I'm singlemalter on Tumblr but don't come talk to me about this. I'm ashamed.


End file.
